Undo It
by GoodyGumDrops
Summary: Ruth Hale is the new occupant in 221C. After meeting John Watson, she grows to fancy the older man. The good doctor, however, seems unaware. But nothing escaped John's super-sleuth flat mate with a piercing blue gaze and terrible manners...Sherlock Holmes. She despised him and his oddly suggestive observations. His invasive touch unnerved her. What could he possibly want?
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys. I decided to start a Sherlock fan fiction. I wrote this OC to be alluring, yet not extraordinary in the cunning and intelligence department. Her intelligence is a bit above average, as she is a school teacher. She doesn't have some cool backstory or secrets...Just a normal woman getting on with life…albeit an appealing woman. The story starts after the first two episodes in season one…I will start the next chapter with Moriarty's first appearance as the mysterious bomber. It will continue from there. I will be putting a warning in every chapter. The sexual content will get more vigorous in upcoming chapters. I obviously love writing mature situations…And I really look forward to making Sherlock do naughty things. I love to get creative…Enjoy!

**WARNING:** This fan fiction contains mature content and subject matter of the sexual nature.

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><p>Chapter 1- His First Sample<p>

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><p>It was a relatively peaceful Sunday morning when a small moving truck pulled into Baker Street. A black cab followed suit before both vehicles came to a full stop in front of their final destination. Inside the cab, a woman in her late twenties smiled in appreciation as she peered outside the tinted window at the quaint little building in which she would soon call home. She quickly paid the cab man, his eyes trailing over her chest as she leaned forward to give him the fair. Self-consciously, she adjusted the collar of her dark cream coat, clearing her throat uneasily before shuffling out of the cramped vehicle as fast as possible. <em>Don't get upset. <em>Today was going to be lovely—another rude prick was not going to ruin that for her.

The young woman eagerly approached the fading black door, inhaling deeply as the bold letters came into view…_221B_. A shiver coursed through her spine as the pale skin of her neck prickled. It felt as if something exciting and, perhaps, dangerous was waiting behind that door_. Don't be silly. _

Feeling slightly nervous, she attempted to tame her disheveled blonde locks before pulling on the small latch. After a brief pause, the door opened to reveal the form of an elderly woman with an open countenance and warm brown eyes. The older woman's face lit up in recognition and she clasped her hands together as she smiled brightly.

"Hello, you must be Ruth Hale! Oh dear, do come in. I'll make you some tea. It's a bit nippy out today. You'll catch a chill standing out there," The elderly woman fussed kindly, ushering her inside without further introduction. She smiled.

"You must be Mrs. Hudson. It's very nice to meet you. I hope I don't disappoint," The blonde woman smiled softly as the older woman led her to a cozy sitting area. She and Mrs. Hudson had been in contact through post since she had found the classified ad for a newly renovated space in the basement—221C. After two months of preparation, she was finally here. Mrs. Hudson clicked her tongue as she seated Ruth on a small red armchair.

"Nonsense. You are far better than expected, dear. Look at you! Such a beautiful girl. I'm so happy to have a nice young thing like you here…Especially with…" Mrs. Hudson suddenly stopped speaking before smiling broadly and changing the topic.

"Well, you'll absolutely love it here, dear. I'm sure of it. Feel free to look around while I make some nice warm tea. Please, take that coat off and make yourself at home," The lively old woman turned and made her way into the kitchen.

Ruth furrowed her brow, slightly put off by Mrs. Hudson's sudden change in mood. What had she been about to say? She slowly shuffled out of her coat to reveal the moderately warm dark peach sweater underneath. It clung to her full figure and she silently hoped there were no "_cab men_" living in this building. _Who were her neighbors_? Standing, she moved around the small sitting area, her light brown gaze trailing over the various furnishings and the lovely little decorations. There was a warm touch to the room, and Mrs. Hudson certainly brightened the place up. It instantly felt like home.

Finding a flat in London had not been the easiest of tasks. After moving to Britain from the States a year ago, she had taken up a minor teaching position at a small primary school in Kent. Ten months later, the school shut down, and she was forced to relocate. With recommendation, she found a new school-teacher position in London. And after plenty of stressful searching and Mrs. Hudson's sympathy, here she was…standing in 221 Baker Street.

Her train of thought was broken as Mrs. Hudson entered the room once more carrying a small tray of tea and sweets. The older woman set the silver tray on the coffee table and slowly poured the steaming tea into a cup.

"Do you take milk, dear?" Mrs. Hudson's voice piped up cheerfully as she prepared the cup. Ruth bit her lip softly, nodding as she spoke up.

"Yes please. No sugar," She smiled as Mrs. Hudson stirred the milk while humming to herself in a pleased manner.

"It's so nice to have you here, really…" The elderly woman's voice was filled with genuine delight as Ruth silently nodded in appreciation before taking the teacup and having a sip. Her curiosity was getting the best of her now.

"Mrs. Hudson…Do I have any neighbors?" Ruth fidgeted nervously as the older woman's relaxed smile disappeared and an uneasy expression crossed her features.

"Your neighbors both share the flat space upstairs, dear. You'll love Doctor Watson—kind man. A reasonable sort. And his…_partner_…" As if on cue, a loud bang sounded from upstairs. Mrs. Hudson flinched and worried the watch on her arm. Ruth jumped up from her seat on the armchair and stood in place, frightened by the sound.

"Was that… a _gunshot_?" Her eyes lit up in concern and alarm as she clutched the knitted ends of her sweater sleeves between her hands. What had she gotten herself into?

Mrs. Hudson merely frowned in distaste. Before the gray woman could sit up, the sound of someone making their way down the stairs with hasty footsteps was heard. Around the corner of the stairwell emerged a middle-aged man with a slightly aged yet attractive face. Ruth took in his graying hair which was neatly coiffed to one side. His cable-knit jumper and khaki colored trousers gave him a rather amiable appearance. Ruth blushed—he was quite handsome. The man quickly ambled over to the sitting area, an apologetic look on his face as he approached Mrs. Hudson.

"He's at it again. There's nothing to do, so he goes and shoots another _bloody_ hole in the wall…I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Hud-," The man froze as he finally noticed Ruth standing there, clearly confused and slightly scared. He cleared his throat awkwardly, straightening himself as he took in the sight of the younger woman. Long blonde curls framed a pale face of strikingly soft features as brown eyes swiftly looked down at the floor. And her body was…his eyes locked on to her supple chest before trailing down to the rest of her womanly frame. She was lovely…but _much_ _too young for him_. He quickly realized he was staring and he tore his eyes away, shuffling in discomfort as he caught Mrs. Hudson give him a look. Perhaps now she would no longer think he was gay.

"It's alright, Doctor Watson, dearie. It's not your fault…You just tell that _partner_ of yours it will be coming out of his rent. I can't have my walls looking like a slice of Swiss," Mrs. Hudson chided lightly as she sipped her own tea, her eyes scolding him for staring at the young woman as she emphasized partner. John scowled slightly at Mrs. Hudson's rather insistent assumption.

"I'm _not _gay…" He denied as Mrs. Hudson simply ignored his statement and gestured to the blonde woman.

"This is Ruth Hale. She'll be living in the renovated basement room. She's a school-teacher from the United States. Poor dear worked in Kent for a year before the school closed down—sweet girl found work here and we've been in touch while I've had the final touches added to the basement," Mrs. Hudson smiled as the younger woman took a sip of her tea. John walked over to where Ruth was standing. He held out his hand and she smiled with a light blush before taking it. It was warm and smooth with callouses. As she stood there shaking his hand, she noticed he was a good five to six inches taller than her. He was quite the gentleman…and he was a reasonable height for her shorter stature. She felt her face growing hot as he spoke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hale. My name is John Watson. Just John is fine," He introduced himself and his warm smile seemed to be contagious. She found herself smiling despite the fact that her face was most likely rivaling a tomato.

"Nice to meet you too, John. You can just call me Ruth. I see you don't introduce yourself as a doctor," She noticed before releasing his hand and sitting back down in her armchair. John gave a light laugh before sitting down next to Mrs. Hudson.

"I don't always want to sound like a stuffy, pompous old bastard. "Doctor" just makes me feel timeworn," He joked as he made himself comfortable. Ruth laughed in return and took another warm sip of tea to calm her nerves. He was very friendly. _He probably has a wife and family. _She sighed, her hopes dashed by her assumptions. She then looked between Mrs. Hudson and John, interest etched on her face.

"What exactly, if I may ask, does your flatmate do, John?" She hesitated as a sound akin to breaking glass was heard from upstairs. John gave her a sympathetic look.

"Today's about as ordinary as it can get. He is the world's only self-entitled consulting detective—a rather brilliant one at that. _Sherlock Holmes_. The police and others consult him for cases they cannot manage. Despite his incredible deductions and ability to solve unsolvable cases…Sherlock is…not very…_agreeable_…to put it simply," John chose his words carefully and she felt as if he were trying to warn her of something.

"What do you mean?" She questioned, slightly frightened by the loud grumbling sounds that were coming from upstairs. _Was he violent, perhaps_? As if reading Ruth's thoughts, John chuckled and eased her concern.

"He's not a bloody pugilist if that's what you're thinking. Oh God, _no_. He just doesn't…sit well with most people. Half the time he's asking to be bloody punched in the face," Mrs. Hudson nodded her head in agreement as John tried to describe the mysterious man upstairs. Ruth merely sat in silence, trying to interpret his meaning.

"You'll see when you meet hi-" John was cut off by the sound of a door slamming open upstairs.

"Mrs. Hudson! Where is my skull? It's a matter of the utmost urgency. I require a mindless companion to converse with and John refuses to see reason. I. Need. To. _Think_. Now, where have you _put it_?" A man's deep voice yelled out as he came stomping down the stairs, almost incoherently ranting before turning the corner.

Ruth scooted back in her seat as a tall man with dark curls and piercing blue eyes emerged demandingly from around the staircase. He was in a dark red dressing gown that was thrown haphazardly over a pressed white shirt and black trousers. He looked…every bit the mad intellect. She had no doubt that John had been trying to warn her of…whatever _this_ was. He felt intimidating…Much unlike the kind doctor sitting calmly across from her. She sat silently, observing the scene before her with apprehension.

Mrs. Hudson huffed and gently placed her teacup on its small plate.

"You'll get it back when you pay all your damages, _young man_," The older woman stated nonchalantly as if scolding a naughty child. The tall man—who she assumed was Sherlock—seemed to pout at this point.

"This is a matter of _importance_, Mrs. Hudson. The _damages_ can most certainly wait. But the disturbed inventory of salad forks _cannot_," He glared in frustration at John, who sat silently, fishing coolly through a newspaper as if to ignore him. Mrs. Hudson frowned, pursing her lips in disapproval.

"Oh, hush. You're scaring your new neighbor. Sherlock, this is Ruth Hale," She silenced the raving man and his icy gaze locked onto Ruth with all the intensity of a hawk. She instantly found herself peering downward nervously at her hands in her lap. _He was extremely intimidating_. Even without looking, she could tell his eyes were burning into her. John placed his newspaper down, frowning at Sherlock.

"For God's sake, Sherlock! Don't even think about it," Sherlock's eyes flickered away from the blonde woman briefly to cheekily meet John's. The blue eyes flashed back to their target, trailing quickly over every feature. John put his face in his palm, knowing that the inevitable was coming.

"Ruth Hale—the new occupant in 221C. In your late twenties…_I gather 27_…Occupation—schoolteacher. Your lack of eye contact indicates you lack confidence in yourself, the hands twiddling in your lap not all too manicured and your lack of makeup suggests…_Single_. Last boyfriend in…_college_…You're looking for a relationship with commitment, but sadly you prefer _older _men. But you have yet to find a decent one that is not either married or stunted in some way…_Ah_…It seems _you have today_ though. But he's not interested—and you've already noted this by the way you're cheeks are clearly colored right now," He paused briefly, eyes suddenly scanning across her lower body. _How did he know all of this_? He had just dashed into the room but a moment ago…She glanced up uncomfortably at the man to see his hands placed underneath his mouth in thought before he rapidly fired again.

"You're allergic to cats, you enjoy sweets…_although your mother ardently disapproves_…for breakfast you had something light…_wheat toast_—lightly buttered. Your roots are darker…one would think dyed, _but no._ The hairs on your arm—which are standing on end right now— and the tone of your skin suggest you _are_ a _natural blonde_. Your life thus far has been rather boring, you're not the brightest woman, and your figure suggests you've previously taken on a more…_provocative _occupation. That and the strap peeking out at your collar indicates that you have a more salacious nature—_an alluring red_—a color associated with passion…_A most useless byproduct of chemistry_… But, most surprisingly, you're still a virg-" John cut him off before Sherlock could go further into the deep end. He was getting rather inappropriate.

"Sherlock, _enough_. I'm so sorry, Ms. Hale. He does this to everyone. He doesn't _know_ when to stop," John sat up, apologizing while glaring at the blue eyed detective. Ruth looked up at the tall man in shock; she didn't know whether to feel amazed or offended. Did he really just suggest she used to be in some kind of…sexual profession? Sherlock smiled, pleased with himself.

"Your gaping expression suggests I'm most certainly correct," He nodded towards Ruth as she closed her mouth.

"That was amazing! How did you do that? Everything was right except..." She suddenly frowned. Sherlock's smug smile was replaced with a cringe. He threw his hands in the air dramatically and stepped forward.

"What did I get wrong? There's _always _something," He gave her an eager look and she didn't know whether it would be alright to tell him or not…He _had_ basically just assumed she used to be some sort of…_and how did he even know she was still a virgin_? She cleared her throat awkwardly and tried not to blush.

"Well…I've never been a…I've never had any _provocative occupation_…whatever you're suggesting. I'm not that sort of woman. I can't help the way I look…and I just so happen to _like_ red…"She blushed, referring to the bra strap he had so graciously pointed out. She uncomfortably adjusted her peach-knit sweater. Did she really look like some tart?

The man sighed in disappointment and muttered to himself.

"I knew something seemed a bit off. I took a shot in the dark—it seems I missed completely. _You are_ a virgin, after all," He declared blatantly as the room went dead silent.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed in astonishment at his brashness. Ruth felt her face grow hotter at Sherlock's words. Had he really just said that out loud…? She looked at him, and his face was riddled with confusion as to what he had done wrong. _This is what John had meant_…

"What? She _is a virgin_. Quite uncommon these days, really. But it is very clear by the angle in which she sits at rest and the-" John cut him off once more.

"You don't need to explain it! You don't go around announcing the sexual status of people…especially those _you've just met_," John crossed his arms and gave the detective a pointed look. Sherlock's deep voice continued in defense.

"I'm sure this information could actually prove quite valuable. She is, after all, already quite taken with y-" Ruth stood up and rushed over to the rude man. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand reached up to cover his mouth. His eyes widened slightly and she looked up at him pleadingly.

"Please. Don't say any more. You're brilliant, really. You're right…just don't…mention _anymore_," Her cheeks burned crimson as he seemed to understand with a nod. Slowly, her tiny hand lowered from his mouth, and he regarded her with a serious look.

"I know," His light eyes met her darker ones. She furrowed her brow.

"What?" Her expression went blank before he gave her a cheeky smile.

"I _am_ brilliant," He stated simply as he grinned at her, pleased by her apparent compliment. She frowned—this man had no sense of manners…But it seemed he could not help himself…_much like a child. _

"You are brilliant…But terribly dim when it comes to divulging personal information," She felt like she was scolding a child in her class for misbehaving. It was then that those clear blue eyes seemed to intensify as he lowered his head, invading her personal space. She took a step back. He was much too tall.

"Nothing, _Ms. Hale, _is personal when it is so clearly lying out in the open to be attained. All one needs to do…is _observe...__and deduce_," His baritone voice was deeper before his eyes glanced over her chest for a fraction of a second. An inconspicuous smile tugged at his lips before he turned around and made his way upstairs. Natural, C cup, red brassiere—_black lace. _His head poked out from the stair case as he called back to Ruth with a very proud look about his face.

"Not red, Ms. Hale. Red with _black trim_. It's quite _natural _that I'll _see_ you later. Good day," And with that, he disappeared upstairs, the door slamming shut once more.

John and Mrs. Hudson stared in confusion and apology at Ruth as she stood in disbelief with her mouth open.

"Don't mind him, he doesn't make sense most of the time. I haven't even a clue about what he was bloody going on about just now," The kind doctor tried to comfort as Mrs. Hudson poured her some more tea.

Ruth's face felt hot. She, as a matter of fact, knew _exactly_ what the brazen detective had been discreetly referring to. It was perhaps even more embarrassing to know that he had deliberately called out information only she could know…About her _breasts and undergarment_…How did he possibly know her size…His duplicitous words echoed in her mind and she blushed harder.

"It's only _natural_ that I'll _see_ you later." She repeated quietly to herself before angrily sitting back down and sipping her tea.

That bastard…that…clever _bastard_! And so she sat there, awestruck and angry with the frighteningly keen observations of the intriguing yet horribly uncouth detective. _Sherlock Holmes..._As she internally fumed, her teacup tipped, spilling the contents onto her sweater. She jumped up at the warm sensation. Mrs. Hudson stood, fussing over her immediately.

"Oh, dear! The washroom is just around the corner. I'll show you," Mrs. Hudson led her to a small bathroom and she quickly thanked the old woman before shutting the door. She ran the tap and took off her warm knit only to see the dark tea had ran through to her bra.

"Damn it," Today was not going as planned. She ran the tea stain on her sweater over the faucet while she unclasped her bra. She didn't want a stain to set in either of them. Although she didn't know who would possibly be seeing her bra anytime soon...

She sighed, the reflection of her naked torso in the mirror making her cringe. Her stomach was flat, but not toned. And her hips swooped into a soft curve. She glared at her chest_. Damned breasts_. She was angry at them…Just jiggling about with no care in the world while they made her back work constantly…and that detective…He only made her even more self-conscious about them. First the cab man, and now an intelligent but God-awful thick neighbor…Today was not going well.

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><p>Upstairs, Sherlock threw himself with a thump onto the couch before closing his eyes and recalling the woman he had just met downstairs. According to basic human aesthetic and the common male perception of the female body…she was physically exceptional. Blue eyes opened abruptly. <em>She hadn't slapped him<em>. No…He recalled the rather soft floral scent of her perfume as her hand clamped over his mouth. Nobody had ever touched him like that before…_She was quite interesting_. She was of average intelligence, with common sense and the discipline of a school-teacher…_and the body of a vixen_. His eyes filled with light as he jumped up from the couch. _She could work with him_.

He shot downstairs, his dressing gown flying behind him in disarray as he made his way into the meager sitting room to find it occupied by only a silent Mrs. Hudson and a tired looking John.

"Where is Ms. Hale?" His voice was demanding as he scanned the room. Her coat was still sitting on the armchair and wisps of steam escaped her teacup—_she had not left_.

"She's in the-" Before Mrs. Hudson could finish, the detective moved towards the small bathroom, opening the door without a single knock as he barged in.

He was met with the sight of Ruth…half naked from the waist up as his eyes trailed over her slowly, observing every blemish, every curve. He stood corrected. The body of a _seductress_.

Ruth froze in shock as she stared wide at the man standing in the doorway, blue gaze burning hot before he paused. Instinct told her to feel furious at him for barging in without notice and looking so blatantly…but he had just gone completely slack, eyes frozen on her torso…Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Mr. Holmes…? _Sherlock Holmes_…?" She slowly questioned as he failed to respond. What happened to the candid man she had just met? Did he not have some strange retort prepared? He was like a sculpture, just standing there as his eyes remained unfocused on her torso.

John suddenly appeared from behind the stationary detective.

"Sherlock! What in the_ bloody hell_-" John looked away and coughed awkwardly as he saw the nearly bare woman before Sherlock.

"I…am _so sorry_. _Sherlock_, come on," The graying doctor turned his back in embarrassment, trying to pull Sherlock away as well. The light-eyed man would not budge.

"Sherlock, I mean it! Move!" John's tone was furious as he pulled harder on Sherlock's arm. He remained perfectly in place, no reaction evident on his face. In fact, no emotion was evident on the detective's face. Ruth was almost certain he wasn't even blinking...John frowned and sighed tiredly.

"You'd better get dressed…He's going to be here for a while…Whatever is going through that thick head of his, I can't say," John informed her as he cleared his throat and tried not to look at her state of undress. Ruth attempted to cover her chest with her arms, uneasy with Sherlock standing there so rigidly. At least one of them was a gentleman.

"I'll go get you something dry from my closet…You haven't unpacked yet," John spoke kindly as he quickly rushed away to fetch something for her to wear, leaving her with the stone-like man before her. _What happened to him?_

She peered up at him reluctantly. It was almost like he wasn't there at all…_Was her body disgusting to him? _Against her will, she began to feel bad. It was like she had just scarred a child…Although this man was certainly no child…He _most certainly_ acted like one.

"Here you are. It might be a bit big on you, but it's better than nothing," John reappeared from behind Sherlock, his face turned away and lightly flushed as he awkwardly held out a light beige sweater. She gladly accepted it, feeling strange as she reached over the frozen Sherlock to retrieve it, her body half naked.

She turned around, bringing the sweater over her head and pulling it over her body. It was loose…but the fabric was tight around her bust. She cursed internally. _This was embarrassing._

"Um…John…Do you have anything larger...?" She remained turned, not wanting to face the doctor with her breasts squished against the fabric of his sweater.

"I'm sorry, but no. This sweater even looks a bit loose," John was looking at her back as she flushed. Was she really going to have to say it out loud…?

"No…It's just…A bit…around the…" She tried to speak up, but she was far too mortified by the current predicament. Today could not possibly get any worse.

"I'm sorry, what? Please, if you prefer, I have other colors," John kindly offered. She cringed. _He was too lovely_. She didn't want to say…

"What she means is that your sweater is too small to accommodate her large bust. Which I might add, is currently stretching the fabric of your jumper _substantially_," A deep voice sounded from behind her and she jumped before turning to see Sherlock was standing right behind her. His light eyes were unreadable as he looked down, her chest indeed pressing against the confines of the sweater. She wanted to flee the room…and possibly never return. _She wasn't even wearing a bra_.

"As you can see, that sweater won't do," To her shock, the towering man before her peeled the red dressing gown from his frame and held it out for her. She stared at the open robe in his hands, not knowing what to do. He was a tall man…but he appeared thinner than Watson. There was no way it was going to fit her. Sherlock noted her concern as he raised a brow.

"Is there something wrong, Ms. Hale?" She looked up at Sherlock to see a confident expression on his face. _There was no way it was going to fit her chest.._.But she wanted to disprove him badly. She sighed before stepping into the coat, his hands lightly brushing her shoulders as she worked her arms into the sleeves. She quickly stepped away from him, something strange in the way his long fingers softly grazed her covered arms. Hastily, she tied the front of the dressing gown. It was loose and flowing around her. _It fit_. She then realized _it had_ been rather loose on the strange detective. He had been right once again..._Smug man_...

"Perfect," He smiled, pleased with himself before abruptly going back to his previous state of no response or movement.

Ruth peered over the still man's shoulder at John, both silent as they tried to figure out what had just happened. John coughed before speaking up lightly.

"I think he's…uh…_processing something_…He may be here a while…" He managed as he looked around the room uneasily. She merely nodded, clutching the front of the red dressing gown before cautiously walking around the detective and out of the washroom. Not wanting to mention it further in front of the good doctor, she blushed and nodded as they returned to tea with Mrs. Hudson.

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><p>Hours later Sherlock became fully aware once more. He saved a special spot in his mind palace for the image of Ms. Hale's nude figure. It could prove useful...and for some reason, he could not bring himself to erase her figure from his memory...He furrowed his brow before walking over to the window and peering through the blinds. It was night. Cursing to himself, he turned to leave the washroom. He had a salad-fork inventory to count. Before leaving, his eyes locked on to a very particular article of clothing that sat in the sink. <em>Red with black lace<em>—he had been right. He smiled to himself in victory. Furtively, he picked up the soft undergarment, examining it briefly. The deep red drew him in…and the wiring that traced the cups was fascinating. He held it to his nose, inhaling deeply before carrying it out of the room and up the stairs. Surely Ms. Hale had others. This needed to be further examined. And perhaps he could garner some more samples…Of course, with or without Ms. Hale's consent.

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><p><strong>So apparently Sherlock is a thief of brassieres…I'd assume since he always investigates everything he would do the same with a woman's undergarment. This chapter is a bit long, but I was having way too much fun. I dare say how he is going to go about getting more samples…perhaps he will have a stolen undergarment inventory to upkeep in the future. Whatever possible scenario, I will think of it. Hope you enjoyed. Please review and favorite! I love reading your input guys. Until next time. <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, hope you enjoy this chapter! I enjoy writing this story despite the fact that I am working on two separate Game of Thrones fanfictions as well. Enjoy!

**WARNING:** This fan fiction contains mature/sexual content and subject matter

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><p>Chapter 2 – A Complete Set<p>

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><p>John was roused from his sleep as he heard bustling coming from outside his bedroom door. Someone was walking rather rampantly around in the kitchen—<em>Sherlock<em>. He frowned grumpily as he angrily shuffled out of bed. Sherlock had crossed a boundary…He couldn't just go around announcing that people—_strangers_—were virgins. John rather liked Ruth—she was like the little sister he never had…And he would protect her from the thick-headed Holmes if he had to. The doctor swung his door open before making his way towards the kitchen. The stained glass sliding door was shut, but he could see the blurry form of Sherlock moving about hastily as he fully invested himself in some sort of work. What was he doing in there? John hoped to God he wasn't taking another salad fork inventory…

He gripped the door and slid it open, his eyes widening as he was met with a very ridiculous and…simply disturbing sight.

Sherlock's face was keen with concentration as he stood before a red lacy bra that was hanging haphazardly by the straps. He was examining it very closely with a small rectangular magnifying glass. There was something quite queer about the whole scene.

"Sherlock, _what in the bloody hell are you doing_? That…_that bra_…better not belong to who I think it belongs to…" John pointed accusingly at the undergarment in disbelief as Sherlock pulled his eyes away from the lacy red piece to glance up at him with a casual expression.

"I'm observing the fiber particles of this material. In total, I have conducted three durability tests and two micro-particle analyses…There is much more to be examined—quite a mysteriously grandiose article of clothing to wear under one's visible garment…It was made to be seen, but _is not_…very strange indeed," John could not believe his ears as Sherlock went back to closely examining the bra…

"Let me get this straight…_You_…of all people…are baffled by a _woman's bra_?" It was simply _ridiculous_. John snorted to himself. Sherlock rolled his eyes and faced him with an irritated look.

"It's rather fascinating, John. An item meant to be both seen and unseen. Very clever…these _women_," Sherlock trailed off as he scribbled some notes in a small leather booklet before retrieving a blowtorch from behind the counter. The detective flipped a welding mask over his face as he ignited the torch. John sighed—now seemed the perfect time to intervene.

"Enough! You're not setting fire to our new neighbor's _personal clothing_!" Without further debate, the doctor marched up and snatched the garment before the blue tip of the blowtorch could meet it. Angrily, Sherlock flipped the mask off and glared at John in disbelief.

"It's an _experiment_," He growled caustically before reaching out for the bra.

"And _this_ is not yours. This belongs to _Ruth_," John hissed back as he gestured to the lacy undergarment in his hand. Sherlock gave him an unimpressed look.

"I am well aware it belongs to Ms. Hale. It _clearly_ does not belong to Mrs. Hudson…" Sherlock stated sarcastically as he waited for John to hand it over.

"_That's the point_! I'm sure "_Ms. Hale"_ won't appreciate you torching or touching her bra for the sake of…_whatever_ you're doing here!" John was met with a serious expression from the man before him…It was made worse by the fact he was still holding a blowtorch…

"That is my only sample, I _must_ have it back," Sherlock stepped forward, his arm reaching for the bra.

"No! If you want one that badly, go and buy one yourself! This is going back to Ruth in the morning before you do any more damage," John turned to leave the kitchen. From behind him, he could hear Sherlock approaching quickly.

"I would not recommend returning that to Ms. Hale," He spoke before John turned around, an angry expression on his face.

"Sherlock, _go and buy one_. There's a little place called _Victoria's Secret_. Maybe you can even figure out the _secret_ while you're there," He quipped sardonically as he continued walking away. Sherlock froze before calling out seriously.

"I submerged it in a bath of highly concentrated acid," He blurted through the silence.

John slowly turned to face the detective. Sherlock looked down with slightly guilty eyes. _He was serious._

John rushed over to the light switch and flipped it up. He looked down in horror to see what appeared to be a red bra…was actually an awfully blotchy muddied pink with black markings from where the dye had run from the lace. It looked an absolute mess.

"Oh _for the love of_…" John glared at the man before him. Sherlock simply looked at him and shrugged.

"You're still not getting this back. You'll apologize to Ruth in the morning. And you'll _pay her_ for a new one," And with that, he walked out, the disaster of a brassiere in his hand. Sherlock certainly wasn't getting it back. It was disturbing enough that he had gone to such lengths to examine it. Sherlock's voice sounded from the kitchen.

"Then I shall inform Ms. Hale her selection of undergarment is quite durable…Although the choice of dye seems to be a slight design-flaw—an easily remedied fault."

John merely ignored Sherlock's outlandish statement. It was too late for this—and he was far too tired to deal with this right now. He slammed the door to his room shut and threw the destroyed bra in the waste basket before climbing back into bed. From outside the room, he could hear clanging from the kitchen…It was back to the salad-fork inventory it seemed…It was better than him destroying their new neighbor's brassiere…

From outside, Sherlock began to sort loudly through the forks in various drawers. He paused and listened briefly—the coast was clear. He slyly pulled out a very particular deep red undergarment with black lace from the inner pocket of his deep blue dressing gown. _Oh yes_, he had the true garment…Clearly John was not in good form when it came to identifying women's undergarments…

* * *

><p>Ruth woke up that morning feeling refreshed and rather eager to begin some serious unpacking. Mrs. Hudson had shown her to 221C after she had finished her tea the day before. She had been so tired after moving her boxes and furniture into the room, that she had not gotten a chance to properly look at the place. With the daylight pouring in from a small high-window at the side, she could see the walls were freshly painted a pastel canary yellow. The room was accented by a simple white trim and there was a lovely little white fireplace in the center of the main wall. She smiled—there were so many decoration possibilities.<p>

Digging through her unpacked box of clothes, she retrieved a white camisole and a worn floral cardigan to wear with her old jeans. She blushed when she got to selecting undergarments…That infuriatingly perceptive detective from yesterday had given her enough to be concerned about…He would probably be able to tell if she had the damned alphabet written out on her bra…She went for a simple nude colored set before shaking her head in doubt at her paranoid thoughts. There was no possible way he could know what she was wearing underneath her clothes—yesterday was simply a lucky guess.

After dressing, she decided to go up for breakfast. The kitchen below the stairs was a sort of common area it seemed…She hoped to God that she would not encounter Sherlock there…Although she highly doubted the man spent much time rummaging through the fridge for sustenance—his frame was lithe but Mrs. Hudson had warned her about his dreadful _fridge_ experiments and stubborn aversion to eating actual food. _Such a man-child…_albeit intelligent beyond all normality…

As she entered the small downstairs kitchen, she was greeted with the sight of Mrs. Hudson pouring a glass of fruit-juice for herself as John sat at the breakfast table with a cup of tea and some jammed toast.

"Good morning," Ruth gave John a slightly confused look. He had mentioned briefly that his upstairs flat included a small kitchen. Reading the curiosity in her eyes, John put his cup down and gave her a pained smile.

"It's worse than a war-zone up there…Sherlock's been holed up in the kitchen since last night…" John paused as he considered something. His look became apologetic.

"Sherlock got a hold of your…_personal garment_ from the bathroom…He sort of…_destroyed_ it in one of his experiments…" He hesitated as he tried to formulate the least upsetting account of what Sherlock had done to her bra. A blank look washed over the young woman's face before her brows furrowed.

"_Really_…?" She whispered, not wanting to believe what John was telling her…_Had he seen it_? She blushed brightly at the thought of the doctor seeing her bra. John coughed uncomfortably.

"Y-Yes…I've already told him he needs to compensate you for a new one…He is _an idiot_…a brilliant _idiot_," He looked away, focusing on his toast as he waited for her response. Hopefully she would not move out in a rage—although he most certainly wouldn't blame her.

Ruth stared at the floor in disbelief. In truth, she was not upset with the loss of the red lacy bra—she quite sadly had nobody to wear it for, after all. She was, however, furious at the detective for taking it without her permission…_The audacity_! What person took somebody's bra without their permission—especially when you had just met them? Who even _experimented_ on a bra? She was boiling with anger now. _Sherlock Holmes_, apparently.

Just as she was about to storm out of the kitchen and up the stairs to confront the sneaky bastard, she felt a looming presence behind her. She heard the figure deeply inhale and she turned around in fright.

There, too close behind her, stood the detective, smiling with his hands calmly clasped behind his back. He was dressed rather properly…much unlike the haphazard man she had seen yesterday. He wore a pressed deep blue dress-shirt that seemed to fit his trim form perfectly. His black trousers were ironed and fitted as well, complimenting his long and surprisingly muscular legs. She quickly looked away as she realized she was staring. _He is not handsome_…_He's a creep_…She tried to internally deny the fact that she had just been admiring the strange detective's form. Her anger returned as she glanced up and saw a smirk grow on his handsome—_creepy_—face. _Damn him_…His light eyes regarded her calmly as she frowned up at him with a red face.

"You! Why did you take my…" She blushed as she tried not to say the embarrassing word. It was already bad enough that the doctor was here to witness her so flustered. Her eyes flashed to the strange man before her as he took a step forward, his gaze steady as he observed her anger calmly.

"Let me put this simply, Ms. Hale. You may keep my dressing gown for any purpose—you can even cut holes in it if you want. In addition, I will offer you the full price of the— quite frankly— racy brassiere so you may purchase a new one. _Any objections_?" He laid out the terms of his peace-offering without any explanation of his actions. She didn't care about the bloody bra any more…But she was far too exhausted to get into it with the irritating man. She merely shook her head as he smiled without a care in the world. _Had he no shame?_

"Good! The arrangement of the fabric particles indicate…Silk…Dyed red—hand-sewn black lace…It was the accompanying piece to a limited edition Valentine's Day set…_Quite naughty_…You indeed indulged on something in which you obviously have no audience to observe…" From his pocket, he pulled out a leather wallet and handed her six notes.

She counted them in disbelief…300 pounds…_What in the world? _How did he know all of that? The bra was indeed a part of a Valentine's Day set…from two years ago…She cringed at the reminder he had just accused her undergarments of being _naughty—_and that she quite obviously had nobody to wear them for. Those words seemed strange coming from him in such a context…And he had gotten the amount correct…It was incredible—a_nd most disturbing_.

"Keep the change…" Sherlock then leaned in close, whispering something in her ear as her face grew hot.

"I recommend a nude beige with sparse black polka dots…_He_ would favor that on a woman's figure," His words went unheard to all but her as he pulled away, smirking keenly as he referred to John's tastes. Her face went crimson before she quickly swatted him away. He gave her a faint smile before turning to leave suddenly. In her eyes, it was a shit-eating grin. _That cocky man…_She smiled to herself—he was trying to make amends…in a strange way. It was something.

"Come, John! We have a case," The doctor nodded in departure as he quickly finished the rest of his toast and rushed to the front door. Sherlock rounded the corner, now dressed in a long black coat as he hastily tied a heavy blue scarf around his neck. He watched Ruth carefully as she tried to hide her smile. She wanted to be upset with him, but it was quite hard.

"Care to join us, Ms. Hale?" He asked politely, clearly knowing her answer already. He knew she would want to spend time with the doctor. _Damn him_. She sighed at his confident countenance.

"Let me get my coat," She ran downstairs, missing the pleased expression that crossed the consulting detective's features. That was _easier_ than he had anticipated. And for a small price he had managed to keep Ms. Hale's personal undergarment...Perhaps he could acquire the matching piece as well?

* * *

><p>It had been three weeks since Ruth had moved in to 221C. After unpacking and decorating, she was officially settled in. On her second week, she had started her first day of work… as a substitute primary school teacher. Sherlock seemed to rub it in her face when she returned from her interview. She had originally been told the position was open for a full-time secondary school teacher. Sherlock had somehow known all along…It was no matter, however. She enjoyed being around younger children—even if the children were slightly more rowdy. The only problem was that the position did not pay enough…And the consulting detective seemed to be <em>quite aware<em> of the fact.

On her days off, the bothersome man sought her out to offer various monetary propositions…Some of which were _quite unusual_…He had mainly insisted upon hiring her as a paid assistant with undefined terms. She turned him down, of course. John already did all of the "assistant" work—and _he_ did not get paid. The detective obviously was not the easiest man to work with…and to be an assistant without any notion of what was required seemed appalling. And then there were the other _propositions_...Which were the current reason she was avoiding the detective at all costs.

He had wanted to _purchase_ her personal undergarments. And quite openly so…He had requested to do so on the latest occasion in front of Mrs. Hudson and John during morning tea…Which led to a high level of discomfort and her slapping the detective. He didn't seem to be phased by her blatant distaste, however. John apologized for the uncouth detective while the man himself shrugged it off and continued to furtively offer her unusually high sums of money for her "feminine underclothes".

And so here she stood…In front of her small fireplace staring at an enclosed white envelope addressed in rather chaotic pen to "_Ms. Hale_". She threw it in the fire without opening it. Was the atrocious detective now resorting to hand-written requests? Why couldn't he just take a hint and leave her alone? He was the most disagreeable person she had ever met…But she liked John…who was always with the damned super-sleuth…

"Damn that man!" She had endured enough. Perhaps he would stop pestering her with oddly perverse requests if she accepted the position as his assistant. She had gone on one case with them, and they merely tracked down a child's runaway cat—no danger whatsoever. What harm could it possibly do? She needed the money, and she would be able to spend time with John. It was decided—she would work for the infuriating man. Without further thought on the matter, she puffed up the stairs to the dreaded flat in which _he_ inhabited. She had never actually entered let alone seen the inside of the upstairs dwelling…Mainly because it felt unsafe crossing into the habitat of a man with little to no regard for decency. She mustered up her courage and made to knock on the door. Just before her knuckle reached the painted wood, the door swung open and her fist gently hit the chest of…

"Ms. Hale, come in. I've been expecting you," Sherlock smiled down smugly at her fist which was now frozen in front of him. She immediately recovered from the shock as her hand swung down and she stuttered out an apology.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hit you—I mean, I know we don't exactly get along, but I would never resort to physical violence…Believe me, I wouldn't touch-"

"Please do stop rambling, Ms. Hale, and come inside," He turned his back in annoyance and began walking towards a sitting area at the front of the room. She frowned with a huff before following.

As she passed through the door, she immediately noticed the disarray of the room. Stray papers and books were strewn across the floor and furniture while various contraptions and odd trinkets sat in strange places. The detective ushered her to sit on a small couch and she noticed a human skull on the mantelpiece.

"I see you've gotten your skull back from Mrs. Hudson…I hope you haven't _stolen_ it back. You _are_ quite keen on taking things without permission, Mr. Holmes," She tried to break the silence. It was hard to be hospitable when she remembered the man before her had the nerve to take her bra…and to destroy it with whatever strange experiments he had done. Sherlock ignored her sarcastic quip and plopped down in an armchair facing the small couch before eyeing her with great intensity.

"Your work begins now," He stated simply. She looked up at him in disbelief.

"Excuse me, _what_?" Who did he think he was? She hadn't even said anything to him yet. The man before her rolled his pale eyes and stood abruptly. He made his way over to a cluttered table and picked up a violin from the mess.

"Your work starts now. You're officially on the clock. Starting wage is 2000 a week. You will be on call at all times…Of course, this excludes the days in which you…_substitute_. Your position requires a level of commitment—I expect you to be available when you are needed. Only your presence and minor assistance is required, Ms. Hale. Any questions?" He began playing the violin in a terrible manner. She could not believe it—had he just offered her…that much? She knew being an on-call assistant to him would be difficult and chaotic, but was he really offering _that_ much?

"Did you say 2000…As in 2000 pounds a week?" That could not have been right—he had to be joking.

"Yes. Every week, on Saturday at noon. I knew in advance you would burn my letter without opening it—so I've withheld your prepayment. Which I have here," He pulled an envelope from his coat's pocket and held it out to her with a smirk. She swallowed hard. That much money…and she could tell he was being serious. Against her better judgment, she sat up, making her way towards the detective reluctantly. She paused before him, staring between his amused face and the envelope in his hand.

"And… there is no catch?" She reached out for the envelope. Piercing blue eyes locked onto brown.

"I can assure you, Ms. Hale, there is no _catch_," His expression was deceitfully amiable. And she was falling straight into his trap.

"Alright then," She slowly grabbed the envelope and awaited her first order. The money was well worth whatever shenanigans he would put her through with his crazy cases. How hard could it actually be?

"Sit over there and don't move or make a sound until I say so," He gestured to the couch on the far side of the room before returning to his violin. She obeyed and sat to the side, watching him with confusion as he stared at nothing in particular and played a God-awful rendition of some classical piece. This was strange…What was she supposed to do?

She looked at the small table in front of her and carefully picked up the closest book. _Classification of Soil_…With nothing better around to occupy herself with, she began reading, trying professionally not to move around too much—he _had_ told her not to move.

After about sixty pages in, she glanced at the clock. It was already noon…She had been there for quite some time. It was then she realized that there was no more hideous violin playing… and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Was soil really so fascinating a subject that she failed to notice him leaving? She glared at the horribly dull book before calling out for the man.

"Mr. Holmes? Are you here?" She waited for a response. Nothing. She stood and walked towards a set of tinted glass sliding doors. _This must be the kitchen_. John had told her he spent time experimenting in there; perhaps he had gone in there. She opened the sliding door and was met with the sight of the detective's back as he concentrated on something hidden from her view. He sniffed the air heavily. His voice made her jump as he addressed her without turning around.

"_Ms. Hale_. You're dismissed for lunch. I'll text you when you're needed," She frowned as his tall form blocked the view of whatever he was examining. She nearly laughed when she realized what he had just said.

"You don't have my number," She pulled her phone out and stepped forward. Sherlock quickly whipped out a cellphone from his pant pocket and tapped rather fervently on the keys with his long fingers. He did not even turn around to face her. He finished tapping the keys and placed the phone back in his pocket before she heard her phone beep. She looked down at her screen: "Go eat, Ms. Hale"—SH. How in the world did he get her number? Mrs. Hudson and John didn't even have it yet. Seeming to sense her astonishment, the detective spoke up once more.

"I have my ways, Ms. Hale," She could just sense the boastful smile in his voice. She rolled her eyes before turning to leave. She was hungry—perhaps he wanted something to eat as well? Getting food seemed like an obvious assistant thing to do.

"Would you like me to get you something for lunch?" She questioned as he continued to examine whatever he had in front of him. It was probably something ridiculous like _soil_…Her thoughts were cut off by his indifferent reply.

"That will be neither useful nor necessary," His head turned to the side briefly to regard her.

"You've surpassed my admittedly low expectations, Ms. Hale," And with that, he was once more occupied by his careful examination.

Ruth smiled hesitantly to herself. Hearing Sherlock Holmes say that felt like a victory—it was sort of a thank you. Close enough for her. She would get him something to eat whether he liked it or not. As his assistant, the least she could do is make sure he ate every now and again. With that, she left to get lunch. She had recently passed a small café two blocks from Baker Street—she would try something from there. Hopefully the almighty Sherlock Holmes could tolerate a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

When the door shut, he quickly sniffed the air to ensure that Ruth had left the room. He smirked to himself as he relished in his success. He had attained a rather interesting assistant…and he had managed to acquire the missing piece to the Valentine's set…A low chuckle sounded in his chest as he brought the magnifying glass to the garment before him—red with black lace.

"Scandalous, Ms. Hale…" He carefully picked up the silk piece and brought it to his room. He hid it away with the matching brassiere in a drawer.

The garments were indeed intriguing…But there was nothing more strangely alluring than the woman they belonged to.

* * *

><p>Ruth spit out a stray lock of hair as she braced the wind, her hands full as she carried two coffees and three paper bags of sandwiches. She probably looked crazy with her hair blowing around every which way. <em>I should have tied it back. <em>She continued to puff hair away from her mouth as her face crinkled up in distaste. _Damn wind_. A public telephone rang from the side and she thought nothing of it as she continued to shuffle forward with the food and drink. She got to the first street corner and waited to pass. Another public phone rang to her side. She frowned. Were they supposed to do that?

When the traffic cleared, she continued walking with caution as she tried to adjust the coffee tucked in her right arm. Another phone rang as she passed and her pace increased. She was only a few minutes away from Baker Street. As she passed by a red telephone box, the sudden ringing sound startled her. She accidentally tilted the coffee in her hand, lightly burning the skin beneath her glove as she hissed in pain. She glared at the box as the phone within continued to sound. Screw the damn phone. She almost dropped a coffee and now her hand was throbbing with pain. Angrily, she made it to the final crossing before Baker Street. Waiting at the turn, a black car with tinted windows suddenly pulled up as a strange man stepped out.

"Ms. Ruth Hale, please get into the car," She took a step back. What in the world was going on? The man looked extremely shady with the stereotypical bad-guy suit, sunglasses, and earpiece. Before she could turn on her heel, a woman stepped out of the car.

"Please get in. You don't have a choice, etc., etc,," The brunette woman was indifferently texting as she made her way around and opened the back door. Her attire was sleek and professional. Ruth didn't have a chance to object as the scary man stood behind her and ushered her into the backseat before closing the door.

"Wait, I didn't agree to this! Let me out!" Ruth dropped the sandwich bags and pulled at the door—_it was locked_. The attractive brunette woman got in next to her and rolled her eyes which were still planted on her phone as she typed away at the keys.

"Calm yourself, blondie. You're simply going to meet with my employer," Ruth looked to her angrily.

"I don't want to meet anyone!" Was she honestly being abducted? At _27_ in broad daylight…The brunette woman glanced at her briefly, her eyes slightly amused as she took in Ruth's features. She went back to typing without another word. Ruth sighed shakily. This woman was difficult and she could tell there would be no further discussion. Sneakily, she took her phone out only to see the signal was blocked. This was hopeless…She looked out the window intently, trying to remember the path and surroundings.

After what seemed to be another forty minutes of driving, the vehicle came to a stop in front of an extremely suspicious looking isolated warehouse. She felt nauseous. The woman led her out of the car and into the warehouse to a large open room with dim light and a single chair. _This wasn't scary at all_…She tried to appear brave as the woman left her alone to sit in the chair. A man appeared from behind a high set of crates. He looked official and intimidating in an expensive looking suit and with a professional expression on his astute face…It reminded her of somebody else that intimidated her…

He came closer, pressing a long umbrella to the floor with each step. Was he going to kill her? Sell her? She shuffled back in the chair as he spoke up.

"Ms. Hale. I can only offer you my most sincere apologies for calling you here in such an alarming manner," He slowly stalked forward with his umbrella as he eyed her intently. Her brow furrowed.

"Were those telephones…?" She trailed off as his laugh resounded through the large warehouse.

"I do apologize. Normally one would answer after the third demonstration," His demeanor was very superior and sharp…_So familiar_…She felt intimidated, but not entirely unsafe for some reason.

"What do you want from me?" She glared at him, trying to appear un-phased. He smiled knowingly at her false exposition.

"_Sherlock Holmes_…A man of great interest to me…and your new employer I understand…" She glared at him when he mentioned the detective. _Of course it had something to do with him_… She remained silent.

"I would like you to, in a manner of speaking,_ spy_ on him for me. I have a great interest in knowing what he is doing and when… Of course, you would be compensated substantially…" The man proposed as he gave her a charming smile. She frowned. This man was suspicious.

"Why do you care? Who are you?" There was just something too familiar about him…

"I'm..._an interested party_—_he_ would call me his _arch-nemesis_…So infantile… I _worry_ about him. Constantly. We have a difficult relationship…I would prefer it if you keep this exchange entirely confidential. My concern is not an object of fascination," The man spoke as he examined the end of his umbrella. Ruth considered him carefully.

"Are you his…_father_?" She looked at him reluctantly after a long pause as his eyes widened slightly at her suggestion. He seemed to straighten his posture proudly as he scoffed to himself. He gave her a curt smile.

"I am _not_ his father—most fortunately. If I were, I can assure you he would most certainly not behave in such a manner," He seemed amused and slightly offended by the notion as he studied his umbrella handle. She frowned. There was no way she would spy on Sherlock…especially for some shady stranger in the shadows.

"No thank you. Now may I please leave?" She answered nervously as the man looked up with intrigue.

"I have yet to present a figure," He seemed very amused by her rejection.

"No is my final answer. No figure required. I don't know you," She stood from her seat as her phone beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket and read the text:

I need you in the kitchen. Now. –SH

She sighed angrily. He could wait—being stuck in a creepy warehouse in the middle of nowhere with a man claiming to be an arch-nemesis seemed a good excuse for tardiness. She looked up briefly at the man before her, hoping he would let her leave. He smiled.

"You don't know Sherlock Holmes all too well either…And yet you've accepted a position as his assistant. There is no difference in this manner…Only your compensation will be much more significant," He stated smoothly. Was he serious? There was a clear difference.

"Sherlock Holmes did not bring me to a creepy warehouse in the middle of nowhere…and he didn't wave an umbrella around like some literary villain. He's strange…but I trust him. May I please leave now?" She was getting impatient and her fear was growing the longer she stood in the dim warehouse with the man before her. He laughed softly at her opposition.

"A valid point, Ms. Hale. It would seem my _little brother_ has chosen his assistant wisely. Very well, you may leave. Anthea will escort you back to Baker Street. I gather we will be seeing _much_ more of you in the future," His eyes filled with mirth as her eyes widened. She was too shocked to even catch his duplicitous words.

"His brother?" She was taken aback as the man began walking away. She suddenly felt embarrassed for thinking he was Sherlock's father. No wonder he had been slightly insulted.

"Do make sure he eats something, Ms. Hale. He can be rather puerile with the regular consumption of food," He called out to her as he exited the warehouse. She had caught Sherlock's attention...and he would be seeing _much more_ of her in the future.

* * *

><p>When Ruth got back to Baker Street, she entered 221B with cold coffee and a bag of crushed sandwiches. It was already far past noon. She rushed up the stairs and opened the door only to see Sherlock waiting for her with his fingers steepled as he sat in front of the mantelpiece with his skull.<p>

"You're late," He commented as his blue eyes stared her down. She frowned.

"Blame your scary brother. What did you need?" She made her way towards the kitchen as she placed the bags and cups on an empty spot of the counter. Sherlock was immediately behind her with a frustrated expression.

"_Mycroft_…Did he offer you money to spy on me?" He asked after hissing the name. She nodded.

"He did, but I declined. It was very shady…But he seems genuinely concerned for your wellbeing…" Her eyes met his as he scoffed. _He is childish_…

"The only thing he's concerned about is interfering with _my _work. But you should be well aware that he is the most dangerous man you will ever meet…" He mentioned seriously before shrugging it off.

"Now! On to more pressing matters…" Without warning, he pulled out a very familiar pair of red and black panties from the pocket of his dressing gown. She spit her coffee out.

"How did you-" She stopped midsentence as he began to pull another very familiar garment from his dressing gown pocket. He had the complete set_—_and he was very pleased with himself_. _Now all he had to do was garner Ms. Hale's cooperation.

* * *

><p><strong>I love a naughty Sherlock Holmes. His…professional curiosity… is a bit disoriented and misplaced. I don't think he himself would even know what he wants. Anyway, quick author note about the title of the story. It is inspired by the song "Undo It" by The 1975. In case some of you want to check it out! Please review and favorite. I enjoy reading your input and reactions. Until the next chapter!<strong>


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